


Sugar Cravings

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Community: hlh shortcuts, Community: hlh_shortcuts, Gen, M/M, hlh shortcuts 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When there's trouble, Joe calls Duncan and Methos. An old friend of Duncan's isn't acting like himself anymore, and the victims are neighborhood children who are stuffed to the gills on candy. Might be a Dark Quickening, might be something else entirely. Duncan and Methos will have to postpone their search for a new house together to do some legwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Cravings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dkwilliams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/gifts).



> Violence in the story to about the level of what happens in the series. It's Highlander, there are weapons, and people get stabby.

“Do you have time on Saturday to look at houses?” Duncan asked across the room. 

Methos diligently tapped something into his own laptop and then flicked his gaze up to Duncan before back down to his screen. “Yes,” he said. “All day, if you need me. But, shouldn't an afternoon alone work fine to pick between the houses?”

“Driving time,” Duncan said. “We’ve got prospective houses on opposite sides of the city.” As careful as Methos was about so many things in his long life, he didn't seem to be too concerned with the choice of housing. He wanted some comforts, and enough back doors to retreat from, but otherwise didn't care much. Duncan held many more opinions. If he and Methos were going to try to cohabitate on a longer-term scale, then he wanted the house they chose to provide ample amenities and good logistics. 

“Ah,” Methos said, his attention already driven back to the technology in front of him. 

Duncan finished tapping out the e-mail to their real estate agent, that they would be delighted to go see some houses with her on Saturday. Duncan scoured the meager on-line resources as well as the paper copies Juliana sent him. It wasn’t easy to find a house that wasn’t too big, nor too small. Too far from conveniences, yet not too close to endanger neighbors. Duncan would have preferred to stay in his current location, having finally settled into the loft above his now defunct martial arts school, but the loft was far too close-quartered to keep Methos and himself from quarreling and getting in each other’s’ way. So, Duncan searched. And Methos tolerated it.

The phone rang and Methos slithered out from under his laptop, and stretched to grab it. “Hello?” he asked. “Joe,” he mouthed at Duncan and then went back to listening intently. His brow furrowed slightly, but other than that, he gave no indication about the call. Still, something in Duncan’s gut plunged, like he’d stepped into freefall. “We’ll be there in less than an hour,” Methos promised and hung up the phone. He reached out and tilted his laptop so Duncan could see. “Joe says there’s some bad business.” He punched in some search terms and then clicked on one of the links. “This.”

Duncan read the page, which was a short news story about an eight-year old child that had gone missing for three days, and then returned home. Another child in the same neighborhood had gone missing in the same time period. Four other missing and found children were mentioned in the very last paragraph, all missing for two or three days, and then later found. “One of us?” he asked. 

Methos grabbed his coat off the rack and shrugged it onto his shoulders. “Let’s go find out.”

 

*** 

The lights at Joe's bar were still dimmed since it was hours before opening, but the door was unlocked when Duncan and Methos arrived. 

Duncan pushed in and caught the whiff of stale beer and cigarette smoke. The floor was slightly tacky with last night's revelries, not entirely mopped away, but otherwise the place nearly echoed with the quiet. They walked past the bar area and into the back, where the lights burned in Joe's office area. 

Joe sat at his desk and looked up as they entered. He pushed away from the keyboard with a groan and rubbed his jawline with a tired gesture. "Thanks for coming," he said, sounding weary. 

"You said it was important," Methos said. 

Joe reached out and pressed a few keys and then gestured at the screen. Duncan and Methos circled around the desk to look at the information. 

"Benjamin Ross." Joe hit another key and a photo of the man appeared. 

"I know him," Duncan said. "He's a good man."

"Was a good man," Joe countered. "Up until about six weeks ago. We don't keep a lot of man power on Ross. He's steady, stable. Makes friends, has a nice job, doesn't take a challenge if he can avoid it."

"You're saying something happened, but you don't know what because you didn't have a Watcher on him," Duncan guessed.

"Something like that," Joe said. "Anyway. We thought he was tucked in for the night, like he'd been for every night two years running, but when we came back in the morning, things were a mess. If it was a challenge, then it was with an untracked Immortal. That's how it got written up in the chronicles. Not long after, his personality changed. He started going out at night, wearing different clothes, talking to himself."

"A dark quickening," Duncan said. A shiver ran down his spine, and he pushed away the jumbled, unpleasant memories of his own experience. He could drink a glass of something strong later and brood, but for this moment, he needed to stay focused on the current problem. 

"Maybe. But it didn't fit exactly. And there's more." Joe hit more keys and another photo came up. It showed Benjamin Ross, but he looked different. His features were blurry, indistinct, and stretched out, like he'd moved during the photo. 

"Bad photo?" Methos asked. "Or bad man?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. We're upgrading our equipment all the time. We've got high speed film — the kind they use at major sporting events, or we've got top of the line digital cameras. None of our photos should be blurry."

"So what are you saying, Joe?" Duncan asked. 

"Something else is going on."

"And this is somehow connected with the kids that go missing?" Methos prompted. 

"Absolutely," Joe said. He tapped more keys and newspaper articles popped up on the screen. "We didn't figure it out at first. We didn't witness him taking the kids. Mostly because he's like smoke now. We can't keep track of him, and he's moving around mainly at night, which makes following him impossible. But this last one, we got lucky. We had people in the right place at the right time. It's Ross, alright. He's taking the kids, holding on to them, and then letting them go."

Duncan clenched his hands. "Is he hurting them?"

"As far as we can tell, no." Joe looked thoughtful. "We went back and interviewed the affected kids, if we could get in to see them. They all say the same thing. He kidnaps them, feeds them candy, and lets them go."

"Can they describe him?" Methos asked. He paced around the room, touching a finger to the edge of a shelf, or the switch of a lamp. He seemed both deep in thought, and utterly distracted. 

"That's the funny thing. They can't." Joe flapped a hand at his screen. "It's like the photo. They say he's blurry looking." 

"But he's still taking them for a reason," Duncan said. "And the next kid might not be so lucky. We need to stop him." 

"You can't take his head," Methos said. 

"I don't want to," Duncan said. "He's my friend. Or was my friend. But if he's hurting children, then what choice is there?"

"Yes, but why is he suddenly kidnapping children?" Methos asked, not directly answering the question. "And feeding them candy?"

Joe shrugged, with an expression of barely suppressed impatience for Methos to get on with his reveal. Duncan stared at Methos with a blank expression. "You know?"

"I have a guess." Methos leaned against the wall. "Remember the witch in Hansel and Gretel?"

"The fairytale?" Joe asked with a disbelieving shake of his head. "What's that got to do with this?"

Duncan stared at Methos, because the mention of the story made his memories flare. "Sometimes fairytales have a core of truth to them, Joe." He could remember the scent of cool forest air and the warmth of a hidden cottage whenever the subject of witches came up. "There was an evil witch in the story, who liked to eat children."

Methos' gaze locked onto Duncan's. "Ross kidnaps the children, gives them candy, and then let's them go."

"The pattern doesn't follow," Joe said. "If Ross is acting like the witch, then why does he let them go? Shouldn't he be trying to eat them?"

"Ross doesn't want to eat the children," Methos said. "But the witch does."

"So, what? What do you mean? Where's the witch? And how is she making Ross act this way?" Joe shook his head and flipped one hand in the air. "Nobody's seen a witch."

"That's because the witch is dead," Methos said, then amended, "Mostly."

"So this is like a dark quickening," Duncan said. "Ben came across the witch and killed her."

"And she possessed him?" Joe shook his head. "Come on, Methos."

"Yeah, Joe," Duncan said. He hadn't stopped looking at Methos during the conversation, and he could see something lurking there. An old wound, an older experience. He didn't know exactly what, but something. With Methos, there was always something. Getting Methos to tell him about it, however, was another matter entirely. "Which is why we can't take his head. The witch will just possess the next person."

"Let me get this straight," Joe said. "Ross killed an evil child-eating witch, but she didn't entirely die. She took possession of his body, and is still kidnapping children and trying to fatten them up. But the kids have all escaped so far. So, what? We need to find a big oven and shove him in?"

"No. Ben is fighting her," Duncan said. "He's still in there. The kids aren't escaping. He's letting them go. She can make him kidnap and feed them candy, but he's fighting her at the end."

"He'll weaken eventually," Methos said.

"Or she will," Duncan replied. 

"You know she'll win. Eventually. If she was able to possess him at all, she's probably been doing it for centuries. Moving from body to body. It's not a random skill."

Joe sighed. "What do we do?"

"What we have to do." Duncan checked his watch. "Do we know where Ben is now?"

"No. He went out last night and hasn't returned yet. And what do you mean by what we have to do?" Joe asked. He frowned at Duncan. "What are you thinking?"

Duncan glanced to Methos, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. "We'll figure it out. Call us as soon as you know where he is." 

"Fine," Joe grumbled. "Don't let me in on your little plan."

"It's better that you don't know, Joe," Methos said as he followed Duncan out of the room. "That way, if it goes wrong, you're out of the loop."

Duncan left the office behind and made his way through the bar, and out into the sunshine. It felt good on his skin after the harsh fluorescent light of Joe's office. 

"What are you thinking?" Methos asked as they got back into the car. 

"Find Ben, stab him in the heart, and lock him up in a crypt somewhere for a few decades or until we can figure out how to cure him. He won't be dead, but he won't be out kidnapping children, either."

"I thought you might suggest that," Methos said. "I think I have a better idea."

Duncan smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

***

"Joe said he was here?" Methos asked. He made a face at the building and shoved his hands farther down into his pockets. "Why is it always an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town? Just once, I'd like for it to be something nice. Maybe a bed and breakfast. I could go for a nice breakfast right now."

"I'll take you out for breakfast later."

"I want bacon. And sausage."

"Done. Now stay focused."

Methos huffed. "Always am."

It had taken Joe's Watchers the entire night to finally track down Ben Ross, but they'd finally come up with the location. Daylight hinted at the very edge of the horizon. 

"We should wait another fifteen minutes," Methos said. "Witches are stronger at night. Dawn will make her weaker."

"While we're waiting," Duncan said, "do you want to tell me what you were thinking about yesterday? I saw your face. Something happened to you once. That's how you know about witches."

"You know, she's probably weak enough right now. Dawn's practically here."

"Methos."

"Maybe over breakfast, MacLeod."

"Okay," Duncan said, willing to wait for the right time and place to have a hard discussion. They spent the long minutes in silence and the sky warmed from a tinge of gray to a hint of pink, and then to a dull orange that brightened. 

"We can go now," Methos said. 

They left the car at the far end of the lot, where it should be safe, just in case there were unexpected developments, and walked toward the building. Most of the windows were missing and the ones present were scratched and fogged. The entire structure exuded an air of abandonment and disuse, and the chill of the morning also gave it an edge of warning. Duncan's instincts told him to stay away from this area; it was dangerous and troubled. Yet, he knew he was here for an important task, and kept on his course. 

Just outside the doorway, which had no door and was only a large hole in the wall, Duncan's body vibrated with the sensation of another Immortal's presence. 

Methos glanced at him. "Ross is here."

"Good. Let's get this over with." Duncan went in first. Nothing was lit inside, and there certainly wasn't any electricity, so Duncan moved slowly as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. 

The shell of a door opened into a small room, and then into a corridor which stretched out before them. Duncan, with Methos behind, followed the path until it opened up into a much larger space. 

"MacLeod," Methos said in a low voice, but Duncan had already seen. Against one wall was a sofa, and a table with chairs. A girl, perhaps eight or nine, was curled up on the couch, asleep. Littered all around were candy wrappers and empty cookie boxes. A short distance away, a figure paced back and forth. He muttered to himself as he walked, turning back and forth. He clutched his head, deeply gripping his own hair with his fingers.

"Ben?" Duncan called out. "Benjamin Ross? It's Duncan MacLeod."

The man turned, bringing his hands to cover his face as he did so. "Duncan?" he asked. His voice was rough and gnarly. "Duncan? Duncan?" he repeated. He peered through his fingers and hunched over. "Help me," he pleaded. "Duncan. Help me." 

"Be careful," Methos warned. 

Duncan slowly approached his friend. "Lower your hands, Ben. I want to see your face."

Ross lowered his hands, but it didn't help Duncan at all. His face was shadowy, twisted somehow. The handsome man Duncan remembered was there, but yet wasn't. His eyes were enormous and too deep set, but somehow still small and tiny, and his nose was fat, but also long and thin. His features blurred even as Duncan watched. 

"Not me," Ross said. "Not me. Duncan, please, this is not me."

"I know," Duncan said as he walked closer. 

"I didn't want to!" Ross howled. He scuttled back, away from Duncan, his expression one of fear. "Not me, not me, not me!" He held his hands up as if he could stop Duncan with just the gesture. When his heel touched the wall and there was nowhere left to run, Ross gave a cry of anguish. Then, with a swift move, his sword flicked out from seemingly nowhere and he lunged forward at Duncan.

Duncan brought his own weapon forth and blocked the attack. The clang and scrape of metal against metal echoed in the mostly empty warehouse. Then Duncan slid in under Ross' weapon, and drew another object from the inside of his coat—a small pair of antique sewing scissors, flashing silver and bright. Duncan stabbed it into Ross' heart.

Ross thumped back against the wall and his sword dropped from his fingers. It clattered on the floor. He reached up his other hand to touch the scissors protruding from his chest. Then his legs bent and he sat down hard on the ground, his head thumping against the wall. His eyes closed. 

Duncan frowned and looked over at Methos, who shrugged. 

"Try the fireplace poker?" Methos suggested. 

Duncan reached into his coat for the iron weapon, but before he could finish drawing it forth, Ross' mouth gaped open and a swell of black mist rushed out into the air. Duncan flung himself backwards and away from the foul stench. 

The mist coalesced into the shape of a man's face, sinister and ugly. His eyes glittered like black coals and the expression burned with hatred. "Curse you." The words tinged the air, like a faraway scream, but Duncan heard them clearly. "Till your dying day, I curse you." 

Duncan narrowed his eyes and stood his ground. "Then you curse yourself, because I am a solstice child, and no curses can bind me. They only return to those who send them."

The hatred on the face of the evil being intensified. "Damn you!" The words faded as soon as Duncan heard them, losing power with each moment. "I will find you…."

Duncan laughed. "And I'll kill you again. Stay dead if you know what's good for you."

Rigid with indignation and spite, the sinister face bled away into the thinness of air, and the black mist turned to dust, blowing away on a wind that couldn't exist within the factory space. 

Duncan and Methos waited for a long minute. 

"Is he gone?" Duncan asked, breaking the silence. 

"Don't you know?" Methos asked. "Being solstice child and all?"

Duncan shrugged. "It sounded good at the time. Best thing to do is out bully these creatures."

"You bluffed him?" Methos stared at Duncan. "Impressive."

Duncan smiled. "After you’ve seen one demon, you sort of get a feel for all the lies and venom they spew." Duncan turned back to his friend, still temporarily dead on the ground. "Now that the witch is dead, let's see if Ben is himself again." He yanked the silver scissors free. 

After a moment, Ross gasped in air. He coughed and sat up, looking around with frantic eyes. Both of his hands curled around the wounded area on his chest. "Duncan?" he asked. "Did you…."

"Yep." Duncan clapped a hand to Ben's shoulder. "Glad to see you're yourself again."

"You're glad!" Ben coughed again and shuddered. "You can't imagine how it felt to have that thing trying to control me."

"Oh, I don't know. I might have an idea," Duncan said. "But, come on. Let's get you cleaned up. Can you stand?"

"Yes," Ben said, and slowly crawled forward and then up to a standing position. Ben retrieved his sword and hastily shoved it back into his coat. "How did you know? How did you find me?"

"MacLeod's buying breakfast," Methos said. "We can talk over sausage gravy and biscuits."

Ben Ross stared at him. 

"Adam Pierson," Methos said and extended a hand. "Friend of MacLeod's. Nice to make your acquaintance."

"Ben Ross. Thanks for…uh…coming." Ross shook hands with Methos, and looked around the warehouse. "I think?"

"MacLeod speaks highly of you," Methos said. "And you fought off the witch for weeks, and didn't eat anybody. Seems like you were worth saving."

"Thanks," Ross said, "but to be honest, the whole thing has been a blur since I got into a fight with the witch in the first place. I saw him trying to take the kid in the house next door, and I went to stop him, and after that, I'm not quite sure where I've been or what I've been doing."

"I don't know how much we can fill in," Duncan said, "but we'll do our best."

"Over bacon and scrambled eggs," Methos chimed in.

"I am hungry," Ross said. 

"Hey! Hey, Mister!"

Duncan looked up at the young voice. He'd forgotten about the little girl. He glanced at Methos and Ben and both of them looked like they'd swallowed a bucket of sea water. 

"I've gotta go to the bathroom!" The little girl got to her feet, crossed her legs, and hopped up and down. "Like right now!"

Ben held up his hands. "I don't know anything—"

Even Methos was backpedaling. "I'll call Joe."

Duncan sighed, and went forward to meet his next great challenge.


End file.
